Sincerely, Erik
by Moskovy
Summary: 'I had a dream about you last night, Charles' - In which Erik misses Charles terribly.


**SINCERELY, ERIK** || _ERIK LENSHERR/CHARLES XAVIER _|| X-MEN: FIRST CLASS

**Title:** Sincerely, Erik.  
><strong>Pairings: <strong>Erik Lensherr/Charles Xavier  
><strong>Genres:** Drama, hurt/angst  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own these characters.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Based on X-Men: First Class. My younger sister came up with the scenario of Charles cleaning out the room Erik stayed in while at his mansion and how he might react. I just thought I'd write about it.  
><strong>Warnings for this chapter: <strong>Angst, some crude language, malexmale, mentions of sex.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> 'I had a dream about you last night, Charles' - In which Erik misses Charles terribly.

* * *

><p>I had a dream about you last night, Charles.<p>

You were sitting, I couldn't see on what exactly, by the window in the room I stayed in at your mansion. The sky was so goddamn blue it was almost blinding

(kind of like your eyes)

and the clouds looked like cardboard. The sun was sitting behind them, smugly, like a fat rich fool. It was shining and bleeding all over the side of your face, and you looked so goddamn beautiful –

(truly,  
>heart-stopping,<br>breathtaking,  
>mind-blowing,<br>beautiful)

The scene changes here. You're still sitting, but now you're by my bed. My clothes are strewn all over the mattress; the sheets are discarded on the floor. I remember thinking in my dream: _I never leave the room in that state, _and I found it amusing because I was wondering why you didn't just call me up and ask me to clean up the mess for myself, in that polite, back-handed way of yours.

But then I realised, it was _you _who had taken out all the clothes and taken off the sheets. I realised you were cleaning up and emptying the room.

(you were but you weren't  
>if you know what I mean.<br>You just –  
>didn't want to leave the room forgotten. )<p>

And you were packing everything away because I wasn't coming back for those things. You don't understand how

(painful)

– how _strange_ it was to suddenly understand what was really happening. I had already left; this was all happening after that fateful day on the beach.

The dream wasn't a memory; rather, it was a vision of

(what I was missing  
>what I was going to miss)<p>

what you might be doing now. I suppose it was my subconscious wanting to know how you are – whether you miss me as much as I miss you. Charles, I hope you know, my friend, that I _do_ miss you. I miss our friendship and long days and nights over chess and scotch

(and sex)

The dream doesn't end there, though. You were still sitting there, Charles, sorting through my clothes, folding and piling. Then the back of your hand brushed something and you stilled. You stayed motionless for who knows how long, and everything was so real and almost tangible; I wanted to reach out and touch you – to see you moving and _alive. _But I couldn't because

(I wasn't actually there)

because it was just a dream and all I could do was keep watching.

Finally you shifted slightly; your shoulders slumped and your neck crooked into your chest while you gave this quiet, quiet sigh. You pulled out – this made me want to laugh in my dream – my black turtleneck sweater. It was fraying a little at the end of the sleeves and it was gathering lint.

(it's still my favourite.)

You held it up a little bit away from your face and for a while, no expression came over your face. You seemed about to start folding it but instead, you scrunched it up, and pressed it against your nose and lips.

You inhaled deeply, breathing and tasting my scent; savouring and memorising-

(what did you smell, Charles?  
>that tacky cologne<br>you bought for me because you thought it made me smell  
>groovy?<br>sweat,  
>sex,<br>you,  
>me<br>?)

You screwed your eyes shut and you gave the most

(agonised,  
>heartbreaking,<br>aching,  
>howl.)<p>

Your shoulders where shaking and you were crying with your whole body, and I couldn't do a goddamn thing about it. What made it worse was that I knew you were crying because of me, and _God_, Charles you _know_ that I would never make you cry intentionally.

(right?)

I don't know how time works in dreams but you stayed there for a very long time, holding my turtleneck to your face and the sun trickling onto the floorboards and stretching out into the shadows.

I love you, Charles.

And I always will.

(You and I – we did want the same thing.  
>we wanted each other.<br>or at least, I wanted –  
>want –<br>you.)

Never forget me.

Yours forever.

Sincerely,  
>Erik L.<p> 


End file.
